


Listening

by riventhorn



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-08
Updated: 2010-06-08
Packaged: 2017-10-17 18:39:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/179999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riventhorn/pseuds/riventhorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for a kinkme_merlin prompt. After catching Merlin complaining and arguing with Arthur, Uther chains him to the back of his horse to drag him along during a long journey with Arthur and his knights. Pure h/c.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Listening

The castle walls muffled the sounds of another day beginning in Camelot—a crowing rooster, the rumble of cart wheels across the paving stones of the courtyard, the clatter of the soldiers as the guard changed. All Arthur could hear in the dim confines of his chambers was the steady, slow sound of Merlin breathing. The tightly drawn curtains kept out most of the light, but Arthur could make out Merlin’s face, still relaxed in sleep.

Arthur trailed his fingers down Merlin’s side, softly, not wanting to wake him yet. It had been weeks, and he still couldn’t quite wrap his mind around the fact that Merlin could do magic. It made sense, of course, explained the many chance coincidences, the expression Arthur had sometimes seen in Merlin’s eyes. He could put a name to it now—fear. Fear and shame. Fear at what Arthur would do when he found out and shame at having to lie.

Arthur had been angry—furious, actually, when Merlin had admitted it. Cold, brittle days had passed between them in silence. And then one morning, Merlin had failed to show up with Arthur’s breakfast. The frantic hour that passed before Arthur found Merlin, who had fallen asleep in the armory while polishing Arthur’s chainmail, had been enough to erase the anger. Enough to make him admit that he needed Merlin in his life—and not just because Merlin had a habit of saving it. Two days later, he had pressed Merlin up against the wall and kissed him. He could still hear the sound Merlin had made—bewildered and joyful.

He had seen Merlin do magic since then. Watched the nervous trepidation fade from Merlin’s eyes when Arthur didn’t yell at him or flinch away. But magic still wasn’t the first thing that came to Arthur’s mind when he thought of Merlin. _Friend_ and _Dear gods, I want to hear you moaning under me_ and _Never leave me_ —those were the thoughts that went racing through his mind.

“Merlin,” Arthur said and gave Merlin’s shoulder a little shake.

“Ummmph,” Merlin grumbled, scrunching his face into the pillow.

“Merlin,” Arthur repeated, louder this time.

Merlin blinked blearily up at him. “What?”

“Is that your version of good morning?”

Merlin disappeared under the blankets.

Arthur chuckled and slid his arms around Merlin, pulling him back out. “We’re leaving in an hour, you know. We have to get up.” They had received several reports of raiders attacking villages near the southern border, and Uther had decided to ride out and investigate, visiting some of the nobles whose holding were on the way for good measure. Arthur, a contingent of knights, and the necessary servants were accompanying him.

“Fine, fine,” Merlin said through a yawn, but he made no effort to move.

Arthur was quite reluctant himself to leave the soft bed, to relinquish the warmth of Merlin clasped in his arms. He moved slightly closer, pressing against Merlin’s back. He traced Merlin’s mouth with his fingers. “Lick them,” he whispered to Merlin.

Merlin complied, sucking Arthur’s fingers into his mouth. Arthur’s breath quickened, his cock stirring and pressing against Merlin’s arse. Merlin pulled back to lick Arthur’s palm, his tongue tracing the lines in Arthur’s skin.

“That’s good,” Arthur managed, breathless. He slid his wet hand down and grasped Merlin’s cock, stroking, pumping him. Noises stuttered out of Merlin, and he leaned his head back, resting it against Arthur’s shoulder. Arthur rubbed himself against Merlin, keeping the same rhythm as his hand on Merlin’s cock, nuzzling Merlin’s jaw, licking right behind Merlin’s earlobe.

“Oh,” Merlin gasped, and he came, spilling over Arthur’s fingers. Arthur moved his hand up Merlin’s stomach, still holding him tightly as he kept moving, thrusting against Merlin.

Merlin twisted in his arms, and then Merlin’s mouth was on his, kisses sloppy and wet. Merlin’s fingers were touching him, wrapping around his cock, and Arthur couldn’t hold back, climaxing with a groan and then falling limply back onto the mattress.

“ _That’s_ my version of a good morning,” Merlin told him, grinning.

They were late, of course. Arthur still pulling on his gloves as they walked into the courtyard, Merlin tumbling out behind him, laden with baggage. Uther was standing impatiently by his horse on the other side of the courtyard, the rest of the knights already mounted, the servants finishing loading the wagons.

Someone else had brought out Arthur’s horses—one intended for Merlin. Merlin began hoisting the saddles up, fingers fumbling with the straps, while Arthur waited, conscious of his father’s gaze even though Arthur’s back was to him.

“Would you hurry it up, Merlin?” he demanded.

“I am,” Merlin retorted. “It’s your fault anyway—waking me up like that. I should let you do this for once, Arthur. All the packing—lugging your crossbow around. The bloody thing is heavy. Which you probably don’t realize because you only hold it for a second and then hand it back to me to reload and cart around until…”

Merlin trailed off, and Arthur glanced up at him. The color had drained from Merlin’s face, and he was staring at something behind Arthur’s shoulder. Arthur turned. Uther was standing there, a grim look on his face.

 

A silent second passed—too long. “Do you allow your servants to address you in this way, Arthur?” his father demanded.

“No,” Arthur said quickly. Of course, he actually did—well, where Merlin was concerned at any rate. But usually Merlin had the sense to keep the complaining, the teasing between the two of them and not where anyone else could hear. “I will see that it does not happen again.”

Uther looked from Arthur, to Merlin, and back again. “It seems to me,” Uther said in a slow, considering tone, “that this boy’s insolence and insubordination have been continuing for quite some time. You have been far too lenient with him, Arthur.”

“I assure you, sire, that I will discipline Merlin appropriately.”

Uther ignored his words. “I see what the problem is now—a problem I should have redressed long ago. All your life, you have been surrounded by servants, by soldiers, by the citizens of Camelot—all people who know who you are, who the Pendragons are, and respect that.” Uther’s gaze flicked to Merlin. “But this boy knew nothing of that when he came here, didn’t know why he should respect you.” Uther gestured to two guards who were standing by. “Well, it is time he learned that respect. Bring me a length of chain,” he ordered the guards, who saluted and hurried off.

“Father,” Arthur began, appalled, “I hardly think that—”

Uther cut him off. “I know you believe that respect comes through kindness and mercy. That is true in some—many cases.” He turned a hard gaze on Merlin. “But some do not have the wit to appreciate such benevolence. Often those who come from mean, rough backgrounds—who have experienced life as a hard struggle against poverty and starvation—can only understand a lesson that is equally harsh.”

Arthur risked a glance at Merlin. He was staring at the ground, shoulders hunched. “Sire,” Arthur tried again. “Merlin _does_ respect me. He has saved my life—you know this!”

“Yes, he has saved your life. And obviously has gained much in return. Your attention, your leniency, your…affection.” The scorn in Uther’s voice lashed out, and Arthur saw Merlin flinch. “It is time you remembered who Merlin is,” Uther continued. “A servant—nothing more. A servant who should show you the proper respect.”

The guards returned at that juncture, and Uther took the proffered chain and manacles.

“What are you going to do to him?” Arthur demanded. His stomach was twisting with apprehension, guilt. If his father tried to hurt Merlin…

Uther raised a mocking eyebrow. “Nothing too terrible. He is simply going to walk today instead of ride. And this,” he held up the chain, “will ensure that he keeps up.”

“No.” Arthur moved to stand by Merlin. “You cannot do this. Merlin has done nothing to deserve it.”

Uther shrugged. “I will not stand here and debate this point with you, Arthur. He comes along in chains or stays here in the dungeon until we return and have the leisure to bicker over his punishment.”

Arthur opened his mouth to say that there would be no punishment, now or later, when Merlin spoke.

“I’m coming,” he said. He had lifted his head and was staring at Uther, face pale but defiant. “I will submit to the punishment, my lord.” He held out his wrists.

“Merlin, no!” Arthur hissed.

Merlin looked at him. “I _am_ going with you,” he repeated, his voice soft but unyielding. And Arthur knew what he meant. If Uther threw Merlin in a cell, Merlin would find a way out of that cell. Would find a way to be by Arthur’s side, to protect him. Even if it meant revealing his magic.

Arthur’s throat was so tight he could hardly speak. “Fine,” he choked out. “But I cannot countenance this.”

“You do not have to countenance it,” Uther said, and he snapped the manacles around Merlin’s wrists. “You only have to watch and learn. Learn how a king must sometimes earn the respect of his subjects.” He jerked on the chain, and Merlin stumbled after him.

They did not ride swiftly. There were many miles to go, and it would do no good to tire the horses. At any rate, the wagons, loaded with the accoutrements that a king required, could not travel fast. But Merlin had to walk quickly, and sometimes break into a run when Uther urged his horse forward to the head of the column.

Uther tied one end of the chain around his saddle, the other end linked through the manacles on Merlin’s wrists, keeping his arms stretched out before him. Uther never looked back at Merlin, but sometimes tugged sharply on the chain, making Merlin stagger forward.

It was a hot day, and Arthur could see that Merlin was getting more and more exhausted, sweat running down his face. Arthur could tell that he felt humiliated, too, conscious of the stares of the knights and servants. For himself, Arthur was barely able to keep back the angry words, barely able to keep his concern for Merlin from showing on his face, knowing that his father was watching him. It was made worse by the fact that Uther truly believed he was doing the right thing. Believed that Merlin deserved to be punished, that servants could never stand on an equal level with nobility. What could Arthur say to him that would make him change his mind? And if he tried—more than likely it would only end in worse punishment for Merlin.

They stopped at mid-afternoon to break their fast, the servants spreading out cold meats and cheese, filling flagons of wine. Uther casually hooked Merlin’s chain on a tree branch as he dismounted. Merlin sank to his knees, head down, breathing hard. “Give him something to drink,” Uther told a servant, and the boy obediently brought Merlin some water, but Uther did not allow him anything to eat.

The afternoon was worse. Merlin was clearly tiring, and when they entered a hilly country, the road began toiling and winding its way up the slopes before steeply descending on the other side. Merlin began falling—tripping over stones or his own leaden feet, and sprawling onto the ground. He usually managed to get up quickly enough to avoid being dragged, but a few times he couldn’t and was yanked through the dirt before Uther finally halted briefly and allowed Merlin to pick himself up.

Arthur hated it—every minute, every second that he had to watch Merlin being hurt and couldn’t do anything about it. Oh, he could do something. He could challenge his father’s authority, challenge Uther’s right as king to make unquestioned decisions. But if he did—Arthur did not know where it would end. And the one time he had started towards Merlin, ready to hack that damn chain apart with his sword if he had to, Merlin had seen him and shook his head. _No. It’s all right. It will be fine._ And so Arthur had dropped back, feeling guilty and wretched and furious.

They stopped for the evening in a wide clearing, a short distance from the banks of a river. Merlin stumbled to a weary halt and just stood there while Uther came up to him. Uther grabbed his wrists and unlocked the manacles. “I trust you have learned your lesson.”

“Yes, sire.”

“Good. Now go and see to your duties.”

Arthur wanted to go to Merlin, wanted to pull him into his arms and tell him he was sorry, so sorry. Instead he sat with his father and the knights around the fire, ate the roasted meat, listened to the stories and jokes and managed a smile when it was required. He caught a glimpse of Merlin sometimes, unsaddling Arthur’s horse, helping the other servants set up the tents, gathering firewood. He moved stiffly, wincing, clothes dusty and torn.

At last, Uther retired for the night, and Arthur sought out his own tent. He lay there in the dark, waiting for Merlin. Merlin finally appeared, ducking inside. He didn’t say anything, but simply curled up on the ground, pulling a thin blanket around him.

“Merlin,” Arthur tried.

No response.

“Merlin, come here.”

A pause, and then Merlin slowly pushed himself to his feet. Arthur sat up and swung his legs around so that he was sitting on the edge of the bed. He pulled Merlin down next to him, and then fumbled about in the dark, striking a flint and lighting a candle. “Now let me see your hands.”

Merlin held them out. His wrists were rubbed raw, his palms scraped from falling and trying to catch himself. Arthur held Merlin’s hands gently as he washed them with a wet cloth. Then he pulled out the jar of paste, made of daffodil roots boiled together with parched barley meal, that one of the cooks had assured him would help heal sores and scrapes. A hiss of pain escaped Merlin as Arthur applied the paste to the abrasions. Finally, Arthur bound Merlin’s hands in strips of clean linen.

“Where else, Merlin?” he asked softly. “Where else are you hurt?”

Merlin shook his head. “Just bruises—that’s all.”

Arthur still held Merlin’s hands in his own. He stroked Merlin’s long fingers. “Merlin,” he began, and then couldn’t go on. Didn’t know what he could possibly say to make this better.

“I _couldn’t_ stay in Camelot, Arthur.” Merlin sought out Arthur’s eyes with his own, pleading, desperate. “I couldn’t sit in a cell, wondering if you were all right. If something had happened to you…”

Arthur put his hand on Merlin’s shoulder. “You can’t protect me from everything, Merlin.”

“I know.” Merlin’s breath caught, and he looked away.

“But I love you for trying,” Arthur added quietly.

A smile crept over Merlin’s face. He drew Arthur’s hand up to his mouth and gently kissed it. Kissed Arthur’s palm, kissed the ring Arthur always wore, kissed all his fingers, one by one. “I don’t blame you,” he whispered.

Arthur reached out, longing, wanting, and Merlin leaned forward, rested his head against Arthur’s chest, let Arthur hold him. “I should have done something,” Arthur murmured into Merlin’s hair. “Should have stopped it.”

“No.” Merlin raised his head and brushed his bandaged hand against Arthur’s cheek. “You’ll never do something like that when you’re king. I know that. And it’s enough.”

“But—”

“I love you,” Merlin whispered, and he kissed Arthur. Kept kissing him as Arthur lowered both of them down onto the bed. Then he sighed and pressed his face against Arthur’s chest again.

Arthur brushed his fingers through Merlin’s hair. “Go to sleep, Merlin.”

It only took a minute or two for Merlin’s body to relax, his breathing to slow. Arthur stayed awake. Watched Merlin in the wavering light of the candle. Listened to the sounds of the trees rustling in the wind, the river rushing along in the darkness, the steady pulse of Merlin’s heart.


End file.
